


the howling

by attackoftheangryeyebrows



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Abduction, Angst, Dark, Dreams, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-12
Updated: 2011-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-19 07:23:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attackoftheangryeyebrows/pseuds/attackoftheangryeyebrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there is one thing Eames has learned for sure in his thirty years on this pathetic, petty planet is that everyone has a dark side. Not the cliche 'come to the dark side, we have cookies' bit, but actual subconscious pits in which nothing but animalistic instincts and desires dwell. The kind of desires and instincts that cause priests to molest young boys despite their vows and mothers to kill their own children. Arthur is no exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the howling

**Author's Note:**

> This little story was basically inspired by the song "The Howling" by Within Temptation. It's a one-shot so don't expect a sequel or anything.

“I was half-expecting to find you fucking a less uptight version of yourself, but this…”

“I’m working, Mr. Eames. Can I help you?”

They’re in a warehouse, the same warehouse from the Fisher job, but it doesn’t have any widows. Eames isn’t even sure if they’re in Paris anymore. There is a table and a chair, the only sticks of furniture in the room, the latter of which is occupied by a man whom he could only assume has seen better days.

“Didn’t realize you were so kinky,” he says, throat uncomfortably dry.

“It’s just a projection,” Arthur replies dismissively.

The projection has been given a smile literally stretching from ear to ear, and is naked. Its head is scalped and all fingernails removed. Arthur stands a few feet in front of it, arms crossed, deep in thought. His jacket and tie are gone, a plastic apron in their place, and his shirt sleeves are rolled up. Eames takes a moment to appreciate his muscular forearms.

“Ah.” He’s not sure if that makes this…whatever _this_ is better. “And what exactly are doing with this poor projection?”

“Practicing. I’m trying to get it to talk although it’s been less than cooperative.”

The projection gives Eames puppy dog eyes and he looks away, feeling like trash.

“Talk about what? Is it going to tell you your darkest secret?”

“I'm not sure.” He goes to the table. Eames sees a train spike, a gun, and an impressive hammer suddenly appear. Arthur inspects the items before choosing the gun. “But I’ll know, though. This isn’t the first time I’ve done this.”

“What? Torture a part of yourself? That’s sick Arthur, even I have to admit that.”

“It helps me to stay sharp. How do you think I collect most of my information? If I can’t find a crucial piece of info during research, I go into the mind of a person close to the mark who might know what I need.”

“And you _torture_ them? I don’t think even Stephen King could come-up with something like that. Haven’t you heard of the theory where people make shit up just to make the torture stop?”

Arthur loads the gun with bullets from a pocket in his apron. Eames tries to ignore the blood spattered across it, how slick and fresh it looks. The whole room stinks of fear and gore. Arthur cocks the gun and rests it on the projection’s knee.

“Of course I have. That’s why I double-check what they’ve told me, and if it’s incorrect I go back in. They don’t remember the dream if that’s what you’re worried about. Yusuf makes sure of that.”

His stomach twists, thinking of his inconspicuous friend. Does Yusuf know what Arthur’s doing with the compounds? He has to, in order to customize them for the job.

“Is this because of Fisher? Darling, none of that was your fault. Cobb should’ve-”

Ignoring Eames, Arthur presses the gun down and the projection’s eyes widen.

“Now?”

It shakes its head fiercely, and Eames can’t help but admire the projection's endurance. He also thinks it incredibly stupid, as no one can stand-up to Arthur’s stamina. The point man's face tightens and he pulls the trigger. The loud sound causes everyone but Arthur to jump in surprise. Blood spurts out and the projection shrieks like a wounded animal. It struggles against its bonds, trying to clutch at the mangled mess in the middle of its leg.

At the table Arthur exchanges the gun for the spike and hammer. Eames manipulates the dream by creating a chair to sit on, one that lacks arm rests and straps. As he watches Arthur torture his subconscious, he thinks of a psychology teacher he once had and what she would’ve gotten out of this little show.

The torment continues on for several more minutes, and Eames struggles to keep himself detached. When Arthur reaches for an electric saw, the projection cracks. It has been reduced to a bloody, nearly unrecognizable shade of its former self. He’s mildly impressed that Arthur could keep this up for so long without killing it.

“Enough, please! I’ve had enough!”

Eyeing it critically, Arthur pulls off his gloves.

“So what’s the answer?”

“You…you want…” It’s trying so hard to talk, but shock is setting in. “Eames. You want Eames. Want to fuck him. Want to kiss him. Mark him. Make him yours.”

Eames’s mouth drops open, his lips forming words – questions? demands? answers? – but doesn’t have time before Arthur’s favorite weapon (gun, of course, a P22) is in hand and he dispatches the projection and Eames without batting an eye.

>>>

If there is one thing Eames has learned for sure in his thirty years on this pathetic, petty planet it's that everyone has a dark side. Not the cliché ‘come to the dark side, we have cookies’ bit, but actual subconscious pits in which nothing but animalistic instincts and desires dwell. The kind of instincts and desires that cause priests to molest young boys despite their vows and mothers to kill their own children.

In some people, the darkness can thrive just below the surface while in others it can be well-hidden. He and the rest of the team, for example, can’t imagine Ariadne harming a fly, but Eames is willing to bet that if push came to shove and loved ones were in danger, the architect would do almost anything.

Even before this incident he’d already caught a few glimpses at Arthur’s darkness. No one ever comes out of the military unscathed and no one leaves black ops the same way they went in. Eames knows that Arthur’s suits and perfect hair are signs of an uncontrollable craving for order and control. Sure, he can handle a little chaos and improvisation, but when perfectly laid plans go tits up, Arthur twitches and swears.

Eames spends days afterwards dreaming of the warehouse. In the dreams sometimes he's the one in that damn chair, sexually tortured by a certain point man until he wakes up sweating and painfully aroused. Other times it’s Arthur tied up, but the methods vary. There are clamps and razors, flagellation and chains, drowning and electric cattle prods.

They don’t speak of the dream, and don’t breathe a word about what the projection said.

>>>

There are four people hooked up to the PASIV device on the bed. One is a woman, two are men, and the fourth is Arthur. The movements of the train cause their bodies to bounce around on the extra bed and floor. The woman and Arthur have the bed, which makes Eames very unhappy and a little overprotective.

He has never worked a job on a train before, but Cobb moves like a pro and doesn’t even lose his balance as he crosses the room.

“They more than likely have two people on the first level. The third will be on the second level with Arthur.” Cobb looks up at him, expression unreadable. “Ariadne and I will take care of them. You go get Arthur.”

Eames nods, well aware of what that entails. Arthur has been missing for almost a week now, and if he’s been under the entire time…

Ariadne gives a reassuring smile before slipping the needle in and going under.

>>>

The first level looks to be an office break room.

The design is completely elementary and boring. It almost makes Eames think that Arthur was the architect. The man and woman throw down the cards they had been playing with on the table but Cobb and Ariadne barely break a sweat incapacitating them. They don’t shoot to kill but to maim. The strangers end up in handcuffs and gags.

Eames waits until he gets to the go ahead before entering the next level, laying next to Arthur on the floor, taking the younger man’s hand in his.

>>>

The second level is a parking basement. The air is stale and smells faintly of gasoline.

When the other man turns, surprised at the interruption, Eames shoots him in the face. His body collapses and hits the ground with a fleshy thump, twitching.

Arthur is in a chair.

But not just any chair – an electric chair, ol’ Sparky himself.

Tears of blood run down the side of his face, and when he raises his head, Eames can see the empty socket from whence they sprang.

“Eames?” The forger’s name sounds like a death rattle. Arthur's lips twist into a pseudo smile. “Taste of…my own medicine…”

Eames collapses to his knees, his heart sick and aching in his chest. Worshipfully he touches Arthur’s face, gentle strokes high cheekbones with calloused thumbs. A hand comes back bloody and now Arthur looks less like a fallen angel and more like a violated man.

“I’ll kill them darling,” he whispers. “I’ll make them suffer so that when death comes for them, they won’t even notice the transition from this world to Hell.”

“My avenger…” Arthur fondly runs a hand (minus pinky and trigger fingers) over his hair, looks down at him with the same Glasgow smile as the projection.

“I want you too, Arthur. I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want you to call me an idiot and then kiss me senseless. I want to be yours.” Eames lowers his gaze, surprised at his boldness. Arthur’s white shirt has become crimson and is torn in several places.

Arthur tucks his mutilated hand under Eames’s chin, forcing him to lift his head.

“Wake me up…Mr. Eames and…I’m yours…”

Eames kisses him then. Arthur’s blood paints his lips red and he tastes iron. Arthur bits down hard on his tongue, making Eames moan. He draws back and puts the gun to Arthur’s head. The point man closes his eyes and tilts his head, as if in prayer.

Two gunshots later Eames returns to reality on the wings of hope and a promise.


End file.
